“When I was young we got real winters.” ❄️

Before anyone comes after me, air-playing a little violin with a tune that mimics a self-pitying whine, I will acknowledge that I am preaching to the choir. What I’m about to tell you is a lived experience by millions this year, so this is just my small story.

I know I’m getting old. How many times have people my age and older said to the youngsters — anyone under forty, in this case — “You have no idea what winters used to be like.” “We had snowbanks as tall as the telephone lines.” “Snow fences had drifts that were fifteen feet wide.” Our corny recollections are interrupted by questions like, “Telephone lines?“ and “What’s a snow fence?” Ahh, youth.

This year, Mother Nature pulled out all the stops and showed those young whippersnappers what real winter is like. Where I live, in southern Ontario, Canada, it has snowed, and snowed, and snowed. Last year was a washout—literally—and we got far more rain than snow. I was not mad about that. Usually, we get a fair amount of snow, and, for years, Murray has kept our driveway clear using his little yellow 1946 Willys Jeep.

This year, for one reason and another, and with far more good luck than actual foresight, I purchased a snowploughing contract. I should have gotten many lottery tickets, too, because I struck the jackpot. I’ve lost count, but I think our Snow Plough Guy has been here ten or eleven times. So far.

At first, the snowfalls came fairly gently, with three inches here and four inches there. Then, last Thursday, we awoke to a generous foot of snow. Ski hills and snowshoers likely called it beautiful, but I did not.

For the same reason and another that I purchased the Snow Plough Guy’s services, and I was also the only one shovelling this year. On the day of that huge dump, I was out for nearly three hours clearing around our vehicles and doing the porches, walkways, and some doggy trails I’d made in the backyard so Bruce and Frances would have somewhere to do their business. I was completely exhausted, and I’m glad I didn’t know what was coming.

It started to snow again on Saturday evening, with plenty more predicted. On Sunday morning, I went out and removed the first few inches. Then Murray decided he needed to clear off the back porch roof. I shoveled four times that day, and if I thought I was exhausted on Thursday, my energy was completely expended by Sunday evening.

You can see the edge of a roof above the porch, which is the flat part above the second story. In the afternoon he pushed the snow from that roof over the peak and onto the front roof of the house, which is quite steep. Today, Tuesday, he started to clear the front.

That was all fine and well, but now there was a pile of snow about six feet tall in front of the windows and the seldom-used front door.

I was fairly concerned about a flood come spring. Murray shared my concern, but he had already come up with a plan. He would hand-dig into the big pile of packed snow and move it all away from the house. 😳

First, he had to scale a small mountain to get where he needed to go.

He started shovelling, and I could hardly bear to watch him. I had already cleaned the windrow at the end of the lane and did some more shovelling at the sides of our ever-narrowing driveway. Snow Plough Guy is doing his best, but with all this snow, there is only so much space to put it. After I finished that, I felt depleted. Like my shovelling muscles had run out of gas. Like my body wouldn’t care if it never moved again. And yet, Murray carried on.

 

And, if you want a look at the landscape around here, I have a video for you. I’m speaking to my sisters as I walk, but you’re very welcome to come along for the tour.